


she ain't the gentle kind

by likebrightness



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebrightness/pseuds/likebrightness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael was a kid when he met Fiona. She was explosive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she ain't the gentle kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinquepida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinquepida/gifts).



> **Title:** she ain’t the gentle kind  
>  **Fandom:** Burn Notice  
>  **Characters/Pairing:** Michael/Fiona  
>  **Rating:** R  
>  **Spoilers:** Vague background spoilers.  
>  **A/N:** First real Burn Notice fic. Title from Jackie Greene’s “Judgement Day”: _that girl of mine, she ain’t the gentle kind, all she do is fuss, cuss and moan_

Michael was a kid when he met Fiona.

He was new to the Agency and new to this world of crime and intrigue. It was intoxicating. You didn’t get into the business if you weren’t hard—and Michael was harder than most—but he still got high off the adrenaline, off the new names and fake accents and more guns than he could count.

Samantha was intoxicating. He met her and they sparked and he was only 23. Michael McBride proposed to her in the courtyard of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin. She said yes.

Three days later, Michael met Fiona.

She was explosive.

She was brazen and blunt and Michael was immediately attracted to her. She was younger than he was—maybe 20, though she never admitted anything—but she made him feel like such a child. Even at her age, she was a trusted member of the IRA. She knew more about bombs than he ever could. And there was a distance in her eyes that he wanted to erase; he wanted to catch her, to chase her down and keep her close.

He was engaged, but Samantha was halfway across the world. She told him she was working with oil companies in Saudi Arabia. He never did find out what she was actually doing, but whatever it was, it wasn’t in Dublin. And Fiona was. Michael had a feeling that even if Fiona moved halfway across the world, he never would be able to think about anyone else.

Michael started spending too much time in the basement of O’Malley’s, where Fiona made the explosives. They didn’t do anything, didn’t even talk. He went over intelligence reports and she made bombs. Occasionally he sneaked looks at her and she never failed to catch him watching. She always cocked an eyebrow. He just went back to his papers.

One night Sean and Finnegan Glenanne pushed Michael into a wall next to the jukebox at O’Malley’s. It was back in a corner, the lightbulb overhead was out. If anyone glanced over, it mostly just looked like three guys figuring out what music to play. Michael wouldn’t have put it past the Glenanne brothers to have broken the light just for the occasion.

“You hurt her and we’ll kill you,” Sean said, his forearm pressed up against Michael’s throat.

“Not at first,” Finn added casually. “First, maybe we’ll pull out some of your teeth. Or break your fingers. Or, hell, maybe both.”

Michael tried for innocent. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about. I—”

“Fiona has mentioned you three times in the last week, mate,” Finn growled. “We’re not sodding morons.”

“We are, however, very good with knives,” Sean said.

“It runs in the family.”

They had their threatening routine down so well Michael figured he couldn’t be the first guy they pulled it on. But really he was stuck on the idea that Fiona had talked about him—more than once.

The next day he found her again, hunched over a block of C4, wiring it to a remote detonator. He sat down in his usual chair but didn’t take out the files. He just looked at her.

“Picture lasts longer,” she said, not looking up.

“Your brothers threatened to torture and kill me.”

That got her attention. She spun her head toward him, fingers still tangled in wires in just the right way.

“They decided I needed the traditional older brother talking to, since you had mentioned me a couple times.”

She blushed at that, and Michael allowed himself a small smile. He’d never seen her blush before.

“They’re protective of me—”

“I can see that.”

“—have always been. But especially since my sister was killed.”

Michael swallowed. He thought he had known the backgrounds of the people he was working with. Sean and Finn and Fiona and the three other Glenanne boys were in this because their father was. He didn’t know anything about a sister.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with the new information, or why she had told him in the first place. Fiona wasn’t the most open girl. But he did at least know better than to say he was sorry, knew Fiona wouldn’t be looking for pity.

“Well, if they wouldn’t injure me in too severe a way, I thought maybe I’d take you to dinner.”

That clearly wasn’t what she expected; she blushed again and went back to her bomb. But she didn’t hide her smile well enough.

“Maybe.”

\--

Later that week they got sent out together.

They were to break into the house of Evan Flannery, a suspected traitor, see what information they could find on his computer. Except he came home early.

Connor got out the back, but Evan caught Michael and Fiona trying to slide down the balcony. Fiona was halfway down the wall, but she still clipped Evan in the shoulder before he could even pull his gun. He managed to get back on his feet and send a round of bullets at them as they ran for Fiona’s car.

She didn’t slow down when they got to it, and Michael was barely inside before she gunned the engine.

Michael never saw anyone following them, but Fiona drove for a good twenty minutes, taking corners too fast and screeching down alleyways. She finally pulled to a stop in one. Michael tried to catch his breath.

Fiona didn’t let him though. After she threw the car into park, she immediately unbuckled and was climbing into his lap.

“Fiona, what—”

She kissed him then, and he thought maybe he wouldn’t ask any more questions.

She was little, fit well on top of his lap. She kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. Tugged his hair back with one hand and reclined the chair with the other.

“Ah, fuck,” Michael said against her lips.

He could feel her smirk. “That’s the idea.”

He lost track of time then. She was active, in control, intoxicating. Her fingers didn’t fumble as she unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it loose from his pants. He tried to keep up. He found a spot under the curve of her jaw that made her throw her head back and moan. But then she had her hands in his pants and then around him and fuck, he couldn’t do anything. She had him writhing and gasping, like all the air had gone out of the car.

“Get my fucking pants off, Michael,” she said, voice unfairly steady.

The pants were the only clothes to come off, in the end. He got her bottom half naked—pants and underwear still clinging to one ankle—and she was too impatient for anything else. He was unbuttoned and unzipped and she sunk down around him.

He thought about bombs and explosions and bursts of fire and heat and smoke until he couldn’t think anything more past _yes_ and _more_ and the rocking of her hips.

“Fuck, Fi,” he said.

She looked at him, all wide eyes and sweat beading on her collarbones. She rolled against him.

He was too wound up; it was going to be over too quickly. But he couldn’t help the way she made him groan and gasp. His fingers slipped between them and against her and she stilled and squeezed and _fuck_ , he pushed into her harder. She bit his jaw, tugged at his earlobe with her teeth.

“Go, Michael.”

And that was it. He was gone. He would have thought of explosions again, except he squeezed his eyes tight could only feel her around him. She shuddered and shuddered and he breathed her name.

She only rested against him for a moment, her forehead hot against his. Then she was climbing off of him, back into the driver’s seat. She pulled some tissue from the glove compartment to clean up, offered some to Michael, who did the same. She shimmied back into her pants with easy grace.

“So,” she grinned at him, “dinner?”


End file.
